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WILLIAM MATTIlliW .MARINE. 



The Battle of North Point. 



POEM COMMEMORATIVE OF SEPTEMBER 
12th, 1814, 



AND OTHER POEMS, 

BY 

WILLIAM MATTHEW MARINE, 

Baltimore, Maryland. 
1901. 






THE Ui8RARY OF 

COMG8ES3, 
Two OorlES htceivEB 

DEC- 23 19^)1 

C nIGMT eNTRY 

COPY J, 



/?tf/ 



Copyrighted in 1901, 
By William Matthew Marine. 



liA UESpCiEi&^CO. ,< pi^Ii^fTERS, BALTIMORE. 



CONTENTS 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

SINCE BOYHOOD 

THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

THE SAW MILL 

THE PINES 

A FAIR COUNTRY . 

MY FIRST GRAY HAIR 

THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 

THE VERGER . 

A LOOK IN THE GLASS 

EACH DAY 

OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES 

ONE OUT OF SEVEN 

SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH 

THE AVENGING MAINE 

LINES ON KEATS . 

THE BUOY BELL 

MY FIFTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY 



PAGE 

7 
31 
43 
53 

56 

58 
65 
68 
73 
76 
78 
81 
84 
86 
93 
99 
100 
104 



PREFACE. 

Courage is required to set adrift a collection of 
poems on the waves of literature. The effusions 
here published will share the fate of thousands of 
preceding ones more deserving of success. Remem- 
ber, reader, the words of Thomas a Kempis, "we 
ought as willingly to read * * * simple books, as 
those that are high and profound. Let not the au- 
thority of the writer offend thee, whether he was 
of little or great learning, but let the love of pure 
truth lead thee to read. Inquire not who said this, 
but attend to what is said." 



DEDICATION. 

The following poem, entitled "The Battle of North 
Point," is, in loyalty, dedicated to the sons and daugh- 
ters of Maryland, whose ancestors served in the 
second war of our independence, known as the War 
of 1812. 

By THE Author. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT. 



The clouds hung o'er the threatened coast, 

Above the bluff, the shore, the strand, 
Where the imperial red-coat host, 

In barges rowed toward the land. 
Upon the beach, strewn pebbles lay. 

Smoothed by the water's polishing. 
Where ebbs and flowing tides held sway, 

To dashing breakers murmuring. 
The river rolled great waves of scorn, 

Indignant at the sight beheld; 
Its wrath was roused that early morn, 

And troublous billows dashed and swelled. 
The Briton crossed the deep to siege, 

To storm the heights of Baltimore, 
And wreak his malice and his rage, 

To light the torch upon this shore. 
From decks of oak, the soldier proud. 

Marched in the ranks to serve his King. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

The sky lay hid beneath a shroud, 

And gave not back an echoing. 
The troops were those of WelHngton, 

Listening to notes of martial air — 
Old tunes heard on the fields he won, 

Played o'er to please the soldiers' ear. 
No one opposing, to defy 

His early march — no saving hand, 
The starry banner forth should fly 

O'er melting ranks which must disband. 
From field of battle, 3^esterday, 

Militia raced against the wind, 
Hastening from Bladensburgh away 

To covert, difficult to find. 
Barney and Miller held that field 

Amid the fiery torrents' flow, 
With wings of iron slow to yield; 

Their faces shone in conflict's glow. 
The sky flamed o'er the capital; 

Surrounding hills were wrapt in blaze; 
The stars concealed by lighted scroll, 

Refused to longer downward gaze. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Prepare, oh ! Baltimore, prepare, 
The crisis of your fate has come. 

Upon your holy altars swear, 

Your's shall not be the Briton's home. 

Canto II. 

The trumpet calls in Baltimore; 

White tents are on the hillside spread; 
The hostile force must leave the shore; 

The earth shakes 'neath defenders' tread. 
Virginia's sword doth brightly gleam. 

And o'er Potomac's waters flash; 
While Penn's sons, in a torrent stream. 

Across the Susquehanna dash. 
The rustic for his country's sake. 

Forthwith to ranks doth now repair; 
He leaves the shores of Chesapeake — 

The scene of Peter Parker's snare — 
Forth from that consecrated sod, 

To reach the spot of Ross' fate, 
Where spilling of his heart's best blood, 

Served not the cause of crafty State. 



10 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

To Parker, Byron's lay was wove, 

Classic of sentiment and art; 
To Ross, no sonnet borne of love. 

Has issued from the gushing heart. 

Canto III. 

The sound went forth of breakfast horn, 

As the notes of a twittering bird; 
It pierced the mists of early morn; 

The Briton's heart was gendy stirred. 
Ross weary of the toilsome march 

O'er lowland, bog, 'mid tangled wood, 
'Neath solar rays enough to parch 

And dry the currents of the blood. 
Responded to the welcome call. 

At table with his aids sat down; 
While there he asked a farmer all 

The happenings in the distant town. 
Wrinkles were in the coat Ross wore; 

Its breast's appearance to improve, 
The farmer carefully looked o'er 

The creases, which he sought to smooth. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 11 

While thus engaged, the General asked, 

Who held command to save the town; 
He wished the name to be unmasked 

Of one enjoying such renown 
As shielding haunts of cruisers bold, 

Who stretched more canvas to the gale, 
And filched a greater sum of gold 

Than other ships they could outsail. 
Those privateersmen left deep scars — 

Unhealing wounds, no time can cure — 
Inflicted on the English tars 

By imprint they can ne'er obscure. 
"To punish rovers calls us here, 

We shall decree yon city's fate; 
It has no blade the brave need fear. 

To bar admission through its gate." 
"You'll ne'er reach there," was the reply; 

"The town noise is no wedding stir; 
Chieftains in war have chance to die, 

For them awaits the pall and bier. 
Do omens pierce your soul with dread ? 

Let me a dream to you relate; 



12 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Forecasts make timid folk afraid; 

They are the finger prints of fate. 
I dreamed of hurrying of men, 

Where smoke hung o'er the field of fight; 
Flame swept a narrow, hemmed in glen, 

Which gave to view a startling sight. 
A crash, like mighty trees had rent, 

And fallen 'neath the whirlwind's force, 
Went forth until its sound was spent, 

And lost to distance in its course. 
A horseman fell, — he downward sank; 

I saw his face; I see it now; 
He held a high, commanding rank. 

But death was written on his brow. 
His army routed, baffled, beat. 

Retired disordered to the wave, 
Compelled through rain to make retreat, 

The nightly elements to brave." 
Ross felt the depths move in his soul. 

And in his throat was choking wrath; 
But self asserted its control. 

He broke out in a merry laugh. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 13 

Then said the dashing cavaHer, 

"MiHtia may Hke rain outpour, 
They'll never wake a Briton's fear; 

We'll run them out of Baltimore." 

Canto IV. 

From o'er the city comes the sound 

Of booming cannon's loud report; 
From Federal Hill the stern rebound, 

To duty, patriots exhort. 
The deep toned bells of Otterbine, 

By warnings tell the foeman comes; 
They ring no longer hymns divine, 

But airs like those from sounding drums. 
Alarmists at such times increase — 

Rumor purveyors of no worth — 
'Till swallowed in the crowd, they cease 

Their bulletins to issue forth; 
In the mad swirl they disappear. 

The sergeant's cry doth them affright, — 
''Fall in, the enemy is near. 

And share the hazard of the fight." 



14 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Love smiles on duty through her tears, 

And dissipates clouds on her brow; 
Her bosom heaves with sinking fears, 

Her loyalty dare not allow; 
So bravely drying tear-dimmed eyes, 

She gazes on the bright cockade. 
And ceases furthermore her sighs. 

Ashamed she could have been afraid. 
A poet sings his latest lay, 

And moves the sympathetic crowd. 
And, as its echoes die away, 

Applause is heard to rise aloud. 
-Who dies for country, doth not yield 

To death's uncompromising sway; 
He soars immortal from the field. 

And dwells untouched by time's decay. 
Fame takes his hand within her clasp, 

And on his brow writes words of fire; 
Eternities are held in grasp. 

Of which the muses never tire; 
'Tis sweet to drink of fame e'en here. 

To wear its blossoms through the hours. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 15 

If you'd be wreathed, go forth, nor fear 
The field, there you will find the flowers. 

Canto V. 

The regiments are hurried hence, 

Preceded by a cavalcade. 
Deeper becomes the great suspense, 

When Strieker leaves with his brigade. 
The tumult rolls to mountain heights. 

And each one's pulse is quick to tell 
The fluttering of fever's flights, 

Which in the breasts of freemen swell. 
In temples, forms bend low with care, 

While Gruber's face is lit with fire; 
His deep toned voice repeats a prayer, 

Which stimulates the worshipper: 
"Convert King George, oh ! Lord we pray, 

Pardon his oft transgressions here. 
To heaven call his soul away, 

We need him not upon this sphere." 
Amen ! had just escaped his throat, 

When cannon broke in roar without, 



16 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

And jarring bells so loudly smote, 

The worshippers were put to rout. 
Glendi, before the waiting crowd — 

Assembled when the troops passed by — 
Uttered petition unto God, 

In faith and deep sincerity: 
"Oh ! Thou who raised the dead to life, 

Hear now Thy servant, even me; 
Be 'midst the flame of coming strife, 

Thou who once walk'd on Galilee, 
Protect our sons, and prove their shield, 

Save them from harm in that dark hour. 
When shot and shell burst o'er the field — 

By marvels of Thy Kingly power." 
The cravens, moved around to say, 

"Better a ransom be paid down, 
And bribe the foe to go away; 

Immunity would save the town." 
Howard, of Cowpens, fiercely swore. 

And raged till cowards made retreat; 
Rather his sons be bathed in gore. 

Dead on the field of great defeat. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 17' 

Than such a shame come to suffuse 
The cheeks of those in after years, 

Who would their sires in wrath accuse, 
Of yielding honor to their fears. 

Canto VI. 

Along the roadway's winding course. 

Heath marches on, intent to find 
The enemy; his foot and horse 

Fired by one purpose and one mind. 
The deadly muskets' bright display, 

Along the roadbed moved on down, 
Nearing the Briton in his way. 

Of rapid march toward the town. 
In mute suprise, stood face to face, 

Invading host and skirmishers; 
They locked their arms in death's embrace, 

As well became such musketeers. 
Ross heard the fire, then urged his horse. 

Heedless of unexpected snare; 
He plunged on madly in his course, 

Reckless of warning word "beware." 



18 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Howard, at front, sustained the shock, 

The blast on Aisquith's line uprose, 
Levering's rank stood firm as rock; 

Clouds gathered o'er the smoky throes; 
It wreathed and curled beneath the skies. 

When Randall's spirit, swept through space, 
Above the earth was seen to rise, 

With sunshine streaming o'er his face. 
McComas walk'd the steps through air — 

With Wells departed out of sight; 
They passed to distant climes afar. 

Unbounded by the shades of night. 
The wounded Ross, by friendly arms, 

Was laid beside the crimson road. 
He closed his ears to war's alarms, 

Amid the ebbing of his blood. 
His steed escaped, and backward ran, 

Bridle and saddle stained with gore — 
A painful sight to Englishmen, 

Who saw it coursing for the shore. 
Between steeds was the chieftain borne 

Toward the ships that rode the wave, 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 19 

Of Strength and pupose reft and shorn, 

A victim soon to fill a grave. 
When on the brow of Poplar Hill, 

The surgeon stooped by Ross' form, 
He saw the creeping of a chill. 

Defying fires of earth to warm. 

Canto VH. 

Heath and his skirmishers retired, 

Followed by the onpressing foe, 
The ranks of both with ardor fired, 

And eager for a further blow. 
Across the road that led from town, 

Stood Strieker's force in war's array, 
'Neath trees the frost must soon embrown, 

Waiting for conflict's deadly sway. 
The right, held firm on Bear Creek's pass, 

Imposing stood in solid line. 
The left reached down to a morass, 

Where lay a stream in bold outline. 
At half-past two, the roll of drum 

Inspired the red-coat column on. 



20 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

With floating banner, wave of plume, 

Dreadful for eye to look upon. 
A cross fire swept on o'er the field, 

And then was heard the musket's crack. 
As man to man, they would not yield; 

The shot was sent and answer'd back. 
The oaks were torn by iron hail, 

Birds, leaving nests, flew wild o'erhead. 
Aloft in upper skies to sail 

For safety, with their wings outspread. 
Fire burned the sedge, consumed the grass; 

Smoke veiled the sky in drapery; 
Death o'er the field was seen to pass 

With gleaming sword of butchery. 
The cannon's fire, swept down the road; 

The flagmen fell, the flags went down; 
From veins of soldiers, blood outpoured. 

And lakes of crimson formed around. 
A flame lit up the leaden sky, 

A cabin soon was in a blaze, 
And sparks were eager forth to fly, 

To spread abroad to outward gaze. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 21 

The rockets dropt as thick as hail, 

The ranks were moved not by their shock; 
Nor forward pressed they to assail; 

Each held his line firm as a rock. 
The crisis neared its final course; 

Rumor regained what Briton lost. 
Falsehood advanced a moving host, 

Said up the river to have crost. 
From off the field, broke out and ran, 

Footmen, w^ho left the gallant few 
The ground to hold, the foe withstand. 

To arms and flag persistent, true, 
Assailed by thrice their numbers, — yet 

With vigor they maintained defence; 
The Briton ne'er dared bayonet, 

But column to the left moved hence. 
The clear-eyed Strieker quick foresaw 

Danger imperiling the day; 
Success required that he withdraw, 

To where reserves impatient lay. 
The jaded Briton sank to earth; 
He left his ranks to fall asleep, 



22 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Intent to win refreshing birth, 

Ere day again should blush and creep. 

Wearily hours crept onward past; 

Few camp fires showed their ruddy light; 

The dead lay in dark shadows cast, 
With ghastly scenes extinct from sight. 

Canto VIll. 

'Twas hour of four, when clash of arms 
* Gave way, their sounds no longer heard. 
The o'er cast sky looked down on forms, 

The victims of the red drawn sword. 
The wounded moaned upon the field, 

Stricken with fever, where the sound 
Of brooklet gHding forth did steal, 

And leave the fatal battle ground. 
The morning saw the Briton bear 

His wounded toward his ships of war, 
His dead he buried without care. 

And without mockery of tear. 
The living, roused from nightly dreams, 

Looked round instinctively with dread, 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 23 

They saw in fancy, ghostly gleams, 

Where earth was cumbered with the dead. 
Rostrevor's mountains slope to sea, 

O'er Carlingford, dark shadows rise; 
Verdure spreads o'er outlying lea, 

In emerald beauty, 'neath those skies. 
There Ross looked out when first he saw 

The light of day with eyes of fire; 
There grew to strength of lion's paw, 

With courage which the brave admire. 
He fell, and then home lights went out; 

Grief entered through the wide, wide hall; 
The hooting owl made rounds about; 

The raven answering its call. 

Canto IX. 

Grief speaks emotions of the soul. 

Which have no words when death's embrace 
Defies mind's effort at control, 

When we look on the cold one's face. 
Sorrow is useless to the dead, 

Happy beyond our tragic life. 



24 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

And all its earthly envies sped, 

Its rivalries of heartless strife. 
Gladness should, like anthems, arise 

Around the bier of sacred worth; 
And thankfulness should reach the skies, 

When we behold the last of earth. 
Andre fell in his early morn. 

The flowers of youth around his brow, 
With manly virtues, which adorn 

And bear their blossoms even now. 
Oft was it said, how sad his fate, 

Called on to die, so brave and young; 
As though to fall, defending State, 

Would not be praised by every tongue. 
No star were his, which would not fade, 

Had martyrdom refused his blood; 
His brilliancy is free from shade — 

Youth snatched away in bright manhood. 
Of Donaldson, let sweetest lay 

Awake o'er him sublimest song; 
He's gone the dark and bloody way, 

Which warriors oft doth move along. 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 25 

His name is g^reen in memory's keep, 

Carved on the column which doth rise 
To bless and hallow those who sleep 

Beneath the watches of the skies. 
Where is the tomb his ashes hide ? 

No one informs us, who is near; 
No likeness of him doth abide 

The changes which are happening here. 
His face is not in silhouette; 

Brief is his life — a paragraph 
Which, the biographer, doth fret. 

Who cannot find his epitaph. 
His name, the city guards with care. 

The stranger reads it on the shaft. 
Within the monumental air, 

Where breezes of the seasons waft. 
The city takes less pride in gain, 

In landscape, parks, and running deer, 
In ships which sail the watery main, 

Homeward again to reappear. 
Than in its dead, its sheeted dead, 

Fallen beneath the canopy. 



26 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

Who for their homes and altars bled, 
Hearing the shout of victory. 

Canto -X. 

Where rugged hills the town surround, 

Strieker led his brigade to camp, 
Pitched his tents upon the ground, 

Kindled his fires and lit his lamp. 
The Briton gazing, stood out where 

The distance rendered safe display, 
His seamen, footmen, cannoneer, 

Disposed so they could move aiwa.y. 
The hour had come to end suspense, 

The raging storms fierce howled without; 
The Briton through the dark stole hence, 

Nor left behind a single scout. 
Water swept o'er the oozy road, 

And ran from sides of every hill; ' 

Bear Creek, if it had overflowed, 

Could not have poured with stronger will. 
Thunder crashed loud amid the blaze 

Of armies fighting in the sky; 



THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 27 

The Britons struggled through the haze, 

Ghosts hissed at them in passing by; 
Where Ross was wounded they crept slow; 

A pale-faced horseman forth did ride, 
Advancing where they'd met the foe. 

With rapid progress, from the tide. 
He no salute gave to the train, 

And soon was lost within the night; 
Amid the pattering of rain, 

Forever passed he out of sight. 
The windows of the farm house glowed, 

Mocking the vanquished put to rout. 
As they passed by, their footsteps slowed 

At sounds within like to a shout; 
They reached the shore and through the gale 

Were rowed beside their rocking ship. 
The tars unreefed the canvas sail. 

And bid their vessel onward sweep. 
Cockburn gazed on surrounding space — 

The stern, defiant old corsair; 
Chagrin was written on his face. 

To melancholy he was heir; 



28 THE BATTLE OF NORTH POINT 

He saw his flag, with colors fast, 
Float sadly o'er the briny flood — 

The flag of Britain at half mast. 

For one whose fate was sealed in blood. 



THE FOLLOWING POEMS, 



Relating to The Eastern Shore, 



ARE DEDICATED TO THE MEMORIES 
OF MY FATHER, 



FLETCHER ELLIOTT MARINE, 



AND MY MOTHER, 



HESTER EALENOR KNOWLES MARLME, 



NATIVES OF THAT SECTION. 



SINCE BOYHOOD. 



Canto I. 



How many snows have come and gone, how many 

years have fled, 
Since halcyon days of boyhood — how many friends 

are dead ? 
I cannot tell; no record, kept, speaks of them one by 

one. 
As silently they passed away when each one's work was 

done. 
In that dark gulf, across whose waste, no living man 

can see, 
I saw plunge in and pass from sight, unnumbered 

spirits free. 
The dross of earth, the toils and cares that fettered 

mind and heart, 
Were quickly lost, as in they sprang — souls ready to 

depart. 

31 



32 SINCE BOYHOOD 

When misty folds of darkness fell, and they were out 

of sight, 
Through lengthening distance echoed back the part- 
ing words, "Good-night," 
Which sadly fell upon the heart with its distressing 

sound, 
Borne forth upon the winds, from those who sleep 

beneath the ground. 
The silent ones claimed fellowship of which their 

souls were proud 
To send forth new-born pledge and seal, from out 

the winding shroud. 
To those remembered on the shore, where tempests 

beat and rave. 
Until the furies sweep them in the hollow sounding 

grave. 
How many snows have come and gone, how many 

years have sped ? 
I cannot say, for fancy's scenes have shifted by and 

fled, 
Since boyhood's days made glad the eyes that looked 

upon the sun. 



SINCE BOYHOOD 33 

And built their castle in the skies — then felt their life 

work done. 
1 only know, down where I lived, when I go back to 

see 
The pleasant friends of earlier days who always 

greeted me, 
That faces strange are in the door; they stare at me 

so wild, 
That in my eyes the glistening tear comes back as 

when a child. 
'Tis then I hurry from the haunts of those, whose 

faces strange 
Dwell in the landmarks of the town, the houses on 

the grange, 
And go where silent sleepers lie in rows of two and 

more. 
To weep the tears of bitterness, 'till weary eyelids 

sore 
Have looked upon the graven stones — those sentinels 

that warn, 
And point their finger tips where slept the dead ere I 

was born. 
c 



34 SINCE BOYHOOD 

'Tis then I find, since boyhood days, the lost ones and 
the known. 

Whose bodies sleep beneath the earth, and some with- 
out a stone. 

I keep no record of their names, for angels only 
count 

The multitudes who congregate at the celestial fount. 

I do believe the books of God have pages, and to 
spare, 

On which to write the names of those who pass to 
heaven's care. 

Canto II. 

How many frosts on window panes, the touch of 

warmth has sped. 
On which were writ, by dear ones gone, their names 

ere they were dead ? i 

Numerous as changes wrought by magic's sturdy 

wand. 
Which binds the present to the past as time speeds 

swift beyond. 



SINCE BOYHOOD 35 

To where the unknown future sleeps in silence unex- 
plored, 

By a river's rising bank, where no stately bark is 
moored; 

Where still and calm as that first eve unnoticed in its 
birth, 

In the deep mystery of time, of this most changeful 
earth. 

So hath it been in my short life of trembling and of 
fear, 

For sorrows grow and tearful strife marks every pass- 
ing year. 

The lease of time our Father gives, why look upon 
with scorn: 

Life is far more than shadows cast, in hours of changes 
born. 

The playground — where our willing feet once trod 
their merry rounds. 

And our voices rose in happy songs that filled the air 
with sounds. 

Until they soared so loud and free, they woke amid 
the glen. 



36 SINCE BOYHOOD 

And died In echoes down the street, at noon-tide filled 

with men — 
Has suffered change, I contemplate with feelings un- 

represt 
Like spirits roving through the dark, who go in 

search of rest. 
The old school house has ceased to hold the teacher 

and the boys, 
And has become a tenant's house, filled with his 

urchins' noise; 
While by it as of yore, the tranquil mirrored waters 

flow — 
On, past a spreading marsh, where nodding reeds and 

rushes grow; 
Where, by the tide, a hundred years has stood a syca- 
more. 
The oldest lingering landmark along that line of 

shore. 
Beneath its swaying outstretched boughs, which 

formed an ample shade. 
That dipped down in the water and with the wavelets 

played. 



i 


tM 




'1 




W^:.f 


o 


1 


ti— t 



SINCE BOYHOOD 37 

Oft' met the boys, in summer, to tempt the dangerous 

tide, 
To breast the rolling billows, and upon their bosoms 

ride. 
The old tree yet stands grandly, with its arms worn 

thin and bare, 
Blasts of winter have marked it, and it shows the lack 

of care; 
Yet it nodded knowingly to me, as in those days of 

yore, 
When last I stood beside it, there upon the river's 

shore. 
The hour is speeding onward, when the bare tree's 

head must bend 
Submissive to the warring blasts — its monarch reign 

at end. 
E'en now that wanton visitant, the shrill steam whistle's 

shriek, 
Responds not to its trembling voice heard no more on 

the creek. 
The moss is growing thickly on the roof which, wear- 
ing old. 



38 SINCE BOYHOOD 

Once covered father's new-made home, his Httle ones 
to hold; 

Now two of them have passed away, and rest in gen- 
tle sleep, 

O'er whom the tears of heaven fall, the daisies smile 
and peep. 

How many frosts on window panes in village houses 
quaint — 

Storm beaten by the siege of years and by the mildew's 
taint — 

Have known the touch of strangers' hands, since when 
I was a boy ? 

As useless as the question is, the mind it doth em- 
ploy. 

Canto HI. 

The snows lie white on fleeting years, the frosts attend 
with age. 

As changes mar and devastate, in their grim pilgrim- 
age. 

The scenes which captivated hearts — beguiled them 
long ago — 



SINCE BOYHOOD 39 

Have knelt down to the autocrat whose march is to 

and fro. 
He weighs upon the balances the atoms of the earth, 
Conceals in stagnant pools that sleep, rare gems of 

priceless worth. 
Oh ! matchless change ! thou wanderer, why light thy 

dreaded pyre 
To burn up in consuming flame our holiest desire ? 
Man creeps along the road of quickening memories 

shed, 
Most cherished and ethereal, of all loved memories 

dead. 
He walks amid the holies — sacred chancels of the 

heart — 
Wandering through those oft trod aisles, unwilling to 

depart. 
The precincts held thus sacred, evermore resound in 

prayer; 
Through all the watches of our lives, they drive away 

despair. 
And o'er those glances backward flung from memory's 

sheeted shore, 



40 SINCE BOYHOOD 

Are pictured forms entrancing, though the artists are 

no more. 
We've gazed on beauty's landscape — red with the 

evening's flood, 
Whose western sun, low sinking, bathed the fields in 

seas of blood; 
When every lengthening shadow between the earth 

and sky, 
Went forth on wings of swiftness — with an eagle's 

speed passed by — 
On, with the clouds which floated serenely toward the 

past, 
To the vale of futurity where outlines are recast. 
Our lives 'mid darkening days, glide o'er seas of con- 
scious doubt, 
Where dangers lie along the way imperiling the route. 
On the ocean's uncertain wave, whose roar sounds 

forth a knell, 
Are echoings from the present to where the ages 

dwell. 
Old songs are like old memories, subduing us when 

heard, 



SINCE BOYHOOD 41 

They touch the tender cords of love, our bosoms 

depths are stirred. 
The impulsive soul breaks forth in loud melodious 

song — 
Airs but intensify those words to which their tunes 

belong. 
The purest of imaginings like rivers smoothly glide; 
The hours when we are most subdued, are those of 

evening tide, 
When woven spells, around us cast, become as spread- 
ing feuds, 
And tempt us by a gloom which leads to most 

despondent moods. 
Were disappointment's fount dried up — all rain mere 

April showers — 
The darkness soon would lose the gloom which 

shrouds the passing hours. 
Bright boyhood's days, allotted us, are sweet as 

draughts of bliss. 
Not one of their effulgent beams of sunshine would 

we miss. 



42 SINCE BOYHOOD 

No supplementing hand of man gives nature charms 

to wear, 
To mountains adds sublimity, bedecked in beauties 

rare; 
Who asks of grand Niagara's force, a smoother flow- 
ing song 
Than the one she sings in melody as ages roll along. 
Our boyhood dwells by peaceful lakes, beneath a 

briUiant light — 
Though far away, the glow from it is evermore in 

sight. 
It makes the march an easy route, toward the setting 

sun, 
We know when it's beneath the hills another day's 

begun. 
The fiery sun will ever warm, it cannot hide its glow. 
It sheds abroad over the earth, its streams which 

brightly flow. 
Boyhood is age's warming sun, which gilds the hours 

with gold, 
Blessing pure lives with lengthened span, to crown 

them growing old. 



THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE. 



Canto L 



Bards soar in flight like birds, 

In loftiness they swell, 
Their souls exult in words 

Which weave a heart-felt spell. 
I'll rouse my silent lyre, . 

Long on the willow hung; 
I'll sweep its chords of fire, 

To melody of song. 
The village hours shone bright, 

Serenely passed those days. 
Whose gleams of purest light 

Abroad dispensed their rays. 
Equality dwelt there, 

Without a cloud of caste. 
Or type of social care 

To spread its chilling blast. 
43 



44 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

Along the highway's course, 

Where streams of travel run, 
Was found the sacred source 

Of daily orison. 
The herald of the cross 

Passed onward o'er that field; 
Sin with its gilded gloss, 

Threw down its battered shield. 
From dawning of the morn, 

Through starry night's repose, 
There change was seldom born, 

With its increasing woes. 

Canto II. 

Divine inspiring days 

Of legendary lore ! 
How sweet their memory plays, 

Like waves upon the shore; 
We see ships on their skids 

In art's most grand design, 
They wait for changing tides 

To mark high water line. 



THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 45 

Oh! charming day and hour 

That crowns a great event ! 
No sky is seen to lower, 

No storm with fury spent. 
The welkin caught the shout; 

The vessel onward sped, 
Off from the shore, and out 

Into the river's bed; 
There on the deep it lay, 

A beauty and a joy, 
Kissed by the waves in pla)^ 

Which rippled light and coy. 
As graceful as a swan 

It sailed across the main. 
After a week had gone, 

It anchored home again. 
The voyage safely o'er. 

Upon the flowing tide, 
It lay near to the shore, 

A home returning bride. 
Forth came the villagers 

To greet with feelings warm. 



46 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

With choruses of cheers, 

The crew that braved the storm. 
They shook the captain's hand, 

He, hke a hero, stood 
Surrounded by his band, 

In gallant sailorhood. 
The many questions plied, 

Had answers to them given. 
''How swift was it to glide 

To yonder far off haven ? 
In speed could it surpass 

The vessels on the bay ? 
Was it of faster class, 

Quicker than dashing spray ?" 
They heard that it could beat 

The swiftest craft afloat, 
That it was sure and fleet, 

A staunch seafaring boat. 

Canto III. 

"I christen thee 'Advance,' " 
One spoke, as in the flood, 



THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 47 

By a deliverance, 

A new launched vessel stood. 
A comrade boat had leapt 

Upon the surging main; 
The Lively Dove there slept, 

Close to her new-born queen. 
On merchant, fortune poured, 

And filled his cup to brim; 
She ne'er above him soared — 

Always in reach of him. 
What ere he touched turned gold 

And multiplied in trade. 
New ships replaced those old. 

That gleamed like burnished blade; 
He caused the town to grow, 

And industries to thrive; 
A place that once was slow, 

Was soon made to revive. 
He heard the water play. 

And saw his boats sail down 
The river to the bay, 

To market and to town. 



48 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

Where spreads a tree's broad shade- 
An ash, near by the shore — 

There 'neath its boughs he laid, 
And planned increase of store. 

Canto IV. 

One drowsy night the moon 

Rose full orbed in the sky; 
A solace and a boon, 

It calmly passed on by. 
The dog refused to bay; 

No leaf by wind was stirred; 
The waves forgot to play; 

No hoot of owl was heard. 
On wharf's remotest edge, 

The merchant stood perplexed; 
His thoughts lay under siege 

Of what was coming next. 
He cast a steady gaze 

Upon the flooding tide 
Which swept along with ease, 

In all of monarch's pride. 



THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 49 

His boats must soon return, 

With cargoes and their crews, 
From yon commercial bourn, 

And bring the latest news. 
The night in glory beamed, 

No cloud was in the sky; 
In exultation seemed, 

The soul of majesty. 
The river quivering lay 

Upon a silvery bed, 
No winds nearby to play, 

Where glory round was shed. 
The plumes of dark fringed trees 

Were stately as old lords; 
The swamp gave images. 

But not of flitting birds; 
No fire-fly light did shine, 

Within the dense growth's shade — 
The glow from heaven divine. 

Spread through its ambuscade. 
The fairies swift retired, 

And hid in diamond caves, 
D 



50 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

Whose beauty was admired, 

By their attending slaves. 
The night too bHthe and gay 

For nymphs to gaze upon, 
They sped themselves away, 

And somewhere else had gone — 
Where miracles are wrought 

Through freaks which oft descend, 
Where stormy winds have fought 

Around the river's bend. 
Calm lay, in arms of sleep, 

And hushed, the sunken waves; 
They shrunk into the deep, 

To find reposeful graves. 
The air decHned to give 

Relief to sultry hours; 
No more could zephyrs live. 

Nor stir amid the bowers. 
A craft was born along, 

Serenely by the tide; 
The sailor sang no song, 

All thoughts of airs had died; 



THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 51 

Useless the vessel's wings 

On which she'd hither flown — 
Idle and helpless things 

The winds seem to disown. 
At last the waking deep 

Rubbed slumber from her eyes, 
And saw the billows leap 

And spread beneath the skies. 
The boat ran with the breeze, 

Her sails to winds outspread; 
She glided past the trees, 

With quickening of her speed. 
The village, soon in view, 

Basked in the moonbeam's spell, 
And to the home-sick crew, 

Had never looked so well. 
The streets gleamed with pale light; 

The sands afar outspread; 
Like snow, they were so bright, 

Abroad their glare was shed. 



52 THE MERCHANT OF THE VILLAGE 

The crew when near the shore, 

Heard a familiar tone; 
"Good morning," then broke o'er 

The wave, from one alone. 

Canto V. 

The boats, through rottenness. 

Have long since disappeared; 
Town commerce has grown less, 

Which once that section cheered. 
The wharf is in decay, 

And change has marred the scene. 
The new and modern day. 

With its attendant train. 
Has elbowed off the old 

From stages of its strife. 
And left its hearth stones cold, 

Where throbs a newer Hfe. 



THE SAW MILL. 



A spring breaks forth with sparkling eye, 
Whose waters flow through thicket's shade, 

Beneath tall pines which sweep the sky, 
With verdant foliage arrayed. 

That straying stream amid the firs, 
Ne'er halts upon its outward race. 

But feels the breath which gently stirs 
In movements o'er its placid face. 

It onward flows, and wide outspreads. 
Where sweep the woods around a dell, 

Whose dam restrains its silvery threads. 
On whose embankment tree tops swell. 

Their shade might tempt the poet's dream, 
In drowsy hours of gentle breeze. 

Wafted along the peaceful stream, 
Awaking fondest images. 
53 



54 THE SAW MILL 

The years, grown gray, have passed from sight, 
Changes have marked the old saw mill, 

They've scarred it in their endless flight, 
And left it to the evening's chill. 

The youthful days to age are joys, — 
Deep wells of water souls partake; 

We drink, forgetting life's alloys, 
And happier are for memory's sake. 

Two scores of years, marked by their scars, 

Are silent as the white array. 
Since one, long ceased from vexing cares, 

Walk'd through yon lonesome wooded way. 

His steady hand the obedient wheel 

Started on its revolving course. 
The crawling cradle made to feel 

The subtle strength of water's force. 

Court days the flood gates were shut down; 

And clothed in suit of fitting cloth, 
With buttons gold, he rode to town, 

Called there by his official oath. 



THE SAW MILL 55 

He's gone from court; he's left the mill; 

Nor walks within his acres' bounds: 
Deep is his sleep on yonder hill, 

Where kindred dust his own surrounds. 

There rook and raven caw and caw; 

There robins show their crimson breasts; 
Amid the solemn, brooding awe, 

The birds sleep in their downy nests. 



THE PINES. 



The g-olden sun's resplendent rays 
Are shadowed by a misty haze. 
The trembling trees send forth a sigh, 
Whose sound is sadly wafted by. 
Borne swiftly on, the winds and rain 
Have come again — have come again — 
The tempest howls along those lines 
Of stately pines — of lordly pines. 

That thriUing scene arouses fears: 
A murky scowl in the sky appears; 
Whence fiery bolts from out it driven, 
Oft rift the clouds athwart the heaven, 
To send in force the wind and rain, 
The storm again — the storm again, 
Like others which, in memory's shrines, 
Have swept the pines — the monarch pines. 
56 



THE PINES 57 

Rain drops fall fast upon the main; 
They beat upon the window pane. 
The dense air thickens into gloom, 
And clouds the cheerful family room. 
Without, the raging hurricane 
Has come again — has come again — 
To hide from view the orb that shines, 
Beyond the clouds — above the pines. 

It leaves the soul the slightest spark 
Of light to glimmer in the dark; 
With deepest sense of brooding ill, 
Fear crosses o'er the doorway sill, 
To tarry while the storm's refrain 
Is heard again — breaks forth again. 
Amid the rushing of the winds. 
Amid the sighing of the pines. 



A FAIR COUNTRY. 



I. 

Fair country, through which rivers flow, 
In slender forms, like silver threads. 

Where, mirrored in their surface glow. 
The whitened sail of commerce spreads ! 

The swift wave rolls upon the deep. 

There cutters ride where white caps toss, 

And schooners scud with graceful sweep. 
In haste the briny bay to cross. 

The birds sing notes of cheerful praise 

In melody that's unsurpassed; 
Out from the wealth of golden days 

The harvest riches are amassed. 



58 



A FAIR COUNTRY 59 

The sun lights up the dome above; 

A limpid clearness fills its arch; 
Soft zephyrs sing the notes of love, 

Which round fair cheeks endearing search. 

Its winds ne'er know sirocco's blast, 

Nor whirl in eddies fierce away, 
To brood disasters, thick and fast. 

Whose climax is a burial day. 

Contented tillers of the soil. 

From happy homes, give fervent prayers; 
Ambition has no schemes to foil 

The honest hearted cottagers. 

No foreign accent there is heard 

To startle natives by its tone, 
The stately English — which has stirred 

To noble deeds — they know alone. 



60 A FAIR COUNTRY 

II. 

Fair country through which rivers flow, 
How beautiful your noon-tides glow ! 
A stillness spreads beneath the skies, 
And wonderful the landscapes lies. 

Calm as a lake on which no oar 
E'er breaks the quiet of its shore. 
Pine forests kiss the deep blue sea 
Of clouds which float so pleasingly. 

In them are fancied castles old, 
With air-drawn towers of massive gold; 
The trees in seeming touch the sky; 
Couches of shats beneath them lie. 

The woods keep decked in deepest green 
Throughout the years that intervene: 
No change of season takes away 
Their freshness for a single day. 



A FAIR COUNTRY 61 

What fragrance in the old-time trees ! 
The resin's scent perfumed the breeze. 
Where forests stood, fields now are there, 
Reynard has lost his former lair. 

In place of shade the waving grain 
Has thriven by the gracious rain. 
And reached the mill on which has grown 
The gathering moss, as years have flown. 

The busy saw keeps on its way, 
And shapes the boards from day to day; 
The constant axe the forests wear, 
While new fields claim the farmers' care. 

III. 

Fair country through which rivers flow. 
The changes which have swept like waves, 

Have submerged with their overflow. 
And made your soil a land of graves. 



62 A FAIR COUNTRY 

The poet halts beside your flood, 
And broods in silence by its spell; 

He treads the mazes of your wood 
Only to hear a funeral knell. 

And well-known forms in fancy's sight — 
They troop about his heart to play; 

Back from the shades of long good night, 
To tarry in his memory. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 



DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, 



CHARLES CARROLL BOMBAUGH, M. D. 



ESTEEMED FOR HIS ADORNMENTS OF MIND 
AND VIRTUES OF HEART. 



MY FIRST GRAY HAIR. 



My first gray hair, 
Like thousands wear, 

Has come upon my head. 
Soon it will tell, 
Alas ! full well, 

To age that I am wed. 

It makes me think 
How I must wink, 

As Time, within my door, 
With warning face, 
And stealthy pace, 

Steals, o'er my household floor. 

Let no one say, 
I would, to-day, 

Turn back the hands of Time, 
And have them race 
O'er the clock's face, 

Ticking its only rhyme. 
E 65 



66 MY FIRST GRAY HAIR 

For in this world 
Flags are unfurled, 

To do and dare and slave. 
Could one go back 
And tread life's track, 

The end would be the grave. 

Brief is our day — 
Ere we're away 

Our record's made and lost; 
While others count — 
And upward mount — 

Life's stairs at every cost. 

The wrinkled face 
That takes its place 

As manhood leaves its prime, 
The eyes' dull glare, 
'Neath brows of care, 

Are legacies of time. 



MY FIRST GRAY HAIR 67 

Our hairs of gray, 
They seem to say: 

"With age you'll soon be blest; 
Your toils subside 
At evening tide 

In tranquilizing rest." 

My first gray hair, 
Like thousands wear, 

You're welcome to my pate. 
So down the hill, 
With free good will, 

I'll hasten — nor be late. 



THE LOSS OF THE ELBE. 



The hawser loosed, the steamer's well-formed prow 

Turned to the new world, over waves of fate; 
On board were those whose hearts were full of glow, 

To reach a port where welcomings await — 
To meet with kindred, who, with tearful eyes, 

Prayed for the voyagers' return to home, 
From climes beneath the arch of foreign skies. 

Where, weary, they had ceased to longer roam. 

Through nightly perils leading on to death, 

O'er raging billows mad with white caps tossed, 
Swept the doomed Elbe — around was the cold breath 

Of winter, where disaster was unloosed. 
Out from the darkened sky fell deadly shafts. 

That filled with grief those in two hemispheres, 
Who need must drink from sorrow's cup its quaffs. 

Whose bitterness their eyes dissolved in tears. 
68 



THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 69 

Wild rose the shriek, and sad the piteous moan 

From helpless passengers, who looking out 
The sinking ship, no less could do than groan 

At sight of desperate waves that rose without, 
Where icy billows rolled o'er caverns deep, 

And crashed aloud with thunder-like report, 
While gusts of anger bade the spray to leap 

And spread abroad in deadly seething sport. 

A craven fled, whose massive iron beak 

Wrought havoc, where the frenzied sea did laugh. 
And sport around the Crathie; the winds in freak, 

Their scorn poured forth along its watery path. 
The Captain listened not to cries which shook 

The strong foundations where the deep doth rest; 
That night he could have written in fame's book, 

His name above the brightest and the best. 

Why did he flee when rockets swept the air. 
And all the skies, illumed, with their display, 

Sending o'er struggling sea in tell-tale glare, 
A glow suffusing like the dawn of day? 



70 THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 

Appeals were fruitless, and with lessening sound, 
The screams died out, 'mid pillars of the nig-ht. 

The Crathie fled from pity's deep resound, 
And left the drowning in their helpless plight. 

Brave fishermen were near in rough costumes. 

Love of their fellows in their kindly hearts. 
Knowing not rank, its honors or its plumes — 

For deeper sympathies true worth imparts. 
They cast their nets on North Sea's briny main — 

Watched near them when waves broke in ceaseless 
roar — 
Remote from scorn of vampire, whose disdain 

Kept them from perils off the distant shore. 

The coming ages, marching 'neath the sky. 

Shall look upon the "Wild Flower," without cloud, 

As evermore in swiftness sailing by, 

To sound of lively greetings heard aloud, 



THE LOSS OF THE ELBE 71 

Bound for the cold, gray bluffs, which stretch from 
shore 

Their lifted hands of sympathetic cheer, 
They call for haste; nor vainly they implore; 

Behold the boat and saved are drawing near. 



THE VERGER. 



[Suggested by a venerable verger in Westminster Abbey, who guided 
the author through that ancient pile in 1886] 



Where sleep Westminster's noble line, 
Daily, within that holy shrine, 
The priest intones the words of prayer 
In presence of the worshipper. 
Throughout that hour, no sounding tread 
Is heard above the sleeping dead; 
The stranger then must stand before 
The eye of Him whom we adore. 
The Verger there incHnes his head 
And listens to the lesson read. 

Service at end, the visitor 
May roam about the marble floor, 
'Neath arches which in outline rise, 
Bedecked with splendor of the skies. 

72 



THE VERGER 73 

Those polished columns please the sense, 
And charm it with their elegance — 
Befitting place where is enshrined 
Best type of intellectual mind, 
Whose names the Verger oft hath read, 
From marble o'er their lowly bed. 

"The Poets' Corner," has ages blest, 
With lingerings of peaceful rest. 
The songs of bards swell in the air, 
From congregated singers there. 
The past its grateful words sends down. 
In celebrating their renown. 
And stirs the living soul with breath 
Of melody from vaults of death; 
The Verger kindly and sincere, 
Honored the poets with a tear. 

None would recall of mortal worth, 
A single shade, back to this earth. 
Those lives were but God-given loans, 
Surviving yet their buried bones. 



74 THE VERGER 

Secure, the future they await, 
To stand before the purpled state. 
Their fame on earth shall ever rise, 
To please them in the upper skies. 
The Verger saw, upon the cloud, 
Their names the trump shall sound aloud. 

How sacred those thus lain away. 
Sepulchred as immortal clay. 
Were not their names above us spread, 
They would be with the nameless dead. 
Sleep blesses courtier and king, 
The soldier for whom arches ring; 
The statesman, who once took the helm. 
And legislated for the realm. 
Of them, the Verger aptly said. 
They shall not perish with the dead. 

A passing day was in its throes, 
And worthily had reached its close; 
The Verger halted, meek and mild. 
Religion's consecrated child. 



THE VERGER 76 

The shadows veiled the arches dim, 

Resounding to a wafted hymn. 

The Verger heard it with closed eyes, 

To open them within the skies. 

When hours of darkness forth had flown, 

They found him rigid as a stone. 



A LOOK IN THE GLASS. 



1 looked into the glass to-day, 
And o'er my face saw wrinkles play; 
Furrows made by the plough of care, 
Left deep their indentations there. 

I looked into the glass to-day; 
The crow's feet made me turn away; 
So plainly marked the world may see 
Unerring signs of destiny. 

I looked into the glass to-day; 
The hair white on my forehead lay, 
As snow of winter on the moor, 
Viewed in the distance from my door. 

I looked into the glass to-day, 
And saw with unconcealed dismay, 
My bark upon the restless tide. 
Toward the breakers onward glide. 
76 



A LOOK IN THE GLASS 77 

I looked into the glass to-day, 
And saw those signs of sure decay. 
I'm getting old — I'm growing old, 
A fact the glass dare not withhold. 

The glass I stood before to-day, 
I viewed when I was young and gay, 
When freshness overspread my face, 
In gracious hours of ease and peace. 

Remove from me that fatal glass; 
Let further years unheeded pass. 
While moving on and undismayed, 
I cross the bridge to lie in shade. 

That glass to others shall reveal 
The changes which will o'er them steal; 
Through years of deep inspiring truth, 
Whose lessons follow from our youth. 



EACH DAY. 



Each day I sit beside the wave, 

The mournful wave of destiny; 
And look into an open grave 

Which hides from me a mystery. 

My life beside the wave is spent; 

Beyond its sweep I cannot see; 
My eager glance is vainly bent 

Toward the great eternity. 

The waves come in, the waves go out; 

Along the shore is message borne. 
I read it as I walk about. 

And with sad thoughts and memories mourn. 



78 



To My Wife, 
HARRIET PERKINS HALL MARINE, 

THE FOLLOWING POEMS, 

RELATING TO THE LITTLE ONES, 

ARE DEDICATED. 



OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES. 



When darkness curtains bedroom walls, 
Where the little ones are sleeping, 

And all is calm in nightly halls, 
And the dews are gently weeping. 

Our watchful eyes are quick to see 
If the tenderlings who slumber, 

Sleep tranquil from their day's romp free, 
And we count them seven in number. 

Seven pairs of folded hands at night, 

And the tiny feet all resting; 
Seven childish sleepers, all so bright. 

Have ceased their merry jesting. 

Seven lisping souls their prayers have said, 
Asking safety till the morrow. 

In peace they sleep, they're not afraid 
Of the trouble men must borrow. 
F 81 



82 OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES 

When on the morrow daylight creeps 
High o'er the hills and hollows, 

And streams, beyond the fields, and steeps, 
Ere the sunset glory follows. 

To hide from light the beauty lain, 

'Neath the greenwood's shade and bowers, 

By creeping branch and maddening main, 
And the parterres of fiowers. 

Our cherish'd ones with laughing eyes, 
And faces beaming with delight, 

Shall gladly hail the azure skies 

With loving looks fixed on its sight. 

They'll play throughout the livelong day. 
Like chirping birds in sylvan wood, 

Unheeding hours which pass away. 
Their value little understood. 



OUR SEVEN LITTLE ONES 83 

Who grudges them Ufe's brittle span ? 

Those youthful hours of fleeting bliss ? 
Play on, dear children, while you can, 

The world will ne'er such hours miss. 

When manhood's day dawns bright and clear, 
And womanhood is crowned with joy, 

We guard our big ones with a tear — 
The bright faced girl, the blue eyed boy. 

And in this world of pits and snares. 

So thickly set to catch them all, 
We watch them — full of anxious cares — 

And cherished hopes, they may not fall. 

And when in death with life we part, 

To sail a sea with unknown coast. 
The farewell echoes of the heart 

Shall linger with the loves we boast. 



ONE OUT OF SEVEN. 



'Twas on a moonless, starless night 
That hid the landscape from the view, 

Through gathered gloom there passed a light, 
Whose course the eye could not pursue. 

Calm brooded o'er the dusky hills; 

A leaf made noise when heard to fall. 
Within a home, submissive wills, 

Were stilled before the deathly pall. 

Our little boy fled from this life, 

For warmth beyond the healing sun, 

So soon he tired of earthly strife. 
And longed for The Eternal One. 



84 



ONE OUT OF SEVEN 85 

He basks in smile of Providence, 
Above the stars which never stray. 

Beyond the plane of earthly sense, 
The little one has gone away. 

Seraphic songs his tongue has caught, 
We bend to hear them as they fly, 

Our souls enraptured with the thought, 
His voice is heard above the sky. 



SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH. 



Grief dwells within the house to-night, 
Where weary hearts with anxious care, 

No longer find their chief delight 
In watching by the lamp-lit glare. 

Her pale face warms no more with life, 
Those passive hands are folded now; 

Tho' young in years, disease was rife 
To stamp death's seal upon her brow. 

Oh ! lily, drooping face so pale ! 

Oh ! sweet, pure child of winsome ways 
Without the strength to stand the gale, 

Soon ended, all thy youthful days. 



86 



SINCE Susie's death 87 

Thy loving friends who stood around 
Thy graceful form where ere 'twas seen, 

View only now that narrow mound 
Where shades conceal and intervene. 

Yet in the glass of memory true 

As thine own guileless heart sincere, 

They'll often take of thee a view, 
And sanctify it with a tear. 

When gazing on thy imaged face, 

Sweet charms were seen of faultless worth, 

Deeply inborn of native grace, 
A heritage of thine by birth. 

And now the head falls on the breast, 
The pen drops useless from the hand. 

When with death's problem mind would wrest, 
And life's great mysteries understand. 



88 SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH 

Why should our loved, in early morn 
On to the grave so swifdy glide? 

Why take from us those early born 
To be so soon with death allied ? 

Why tarry here so brief a while, 
The tendrils of our hearts to bind, 

To charm with captivating smile, 
The fancies of enraptured mind ? 

When there's a momentary truce, 
A parley with disease's force, 

Then golden cords themselves unloose, 
And death pursues its wanton course. 

May we not doubt, when blinding tears, 
Fall from our eye-lids, hidden stores. 

Kind Providence, who stains the years. 
With human blood the heart outpours. 



SINCE Susie's death 89 

We're counseled not to murmur so; 

How wrong it is to thus complain, 
Our duty clear, we take the blow, 

With resignation in our pain. 

Force makes us cringe, but sovereign will 
No cheerful service yields to death, 

We hate the power it hath to kill, 
To take away our fleeting breath. 

Yes hate it; for its bloody hand, 

Has torn our hearts with cruel force, 

And to our homes its stern command 

Hath summoned oft the gruesome hearse. 

No light around us — all is dim, 

As passing spectres in a crowd. 
Who never knew thanksgiving hymn, 

To sing in praise of whitened shroud. 



90 SINCE SUSIE'S DEATH 

Which cloaks the little form grown cold 
And motionless within her cell, 

Whose soul is in a brighter fold — 
A clime without a funerarknell. 

That's why our house is still to-night, 
Why those within are sore depressed, 

No gladness by the glowing light, 
For little Susie's gone to rest. 



To THE Sacred Memory 



OF 



WILLIAM McKINLEY, 



PATRIOT, STATESMAN, PRESIDENT, MARTYR, 



This Poem on The Spanish War 
IS Dedicated. 



THE AVENGING MAINE. 



When from Manila Blanco heard, 

Of Dewey's style of fighting, 
His nerves exceedingly were stirred, 

The news was so exciting, 
They've won the day in Philippines, 

Now they will venture here, sir. 
Defying our trochaian lines. 

Despite our holding on, sir. 
Blanco sang from an old song book. 

Some songs he found within it, 
And then he said it's a bad outlook, 

Ourselves we cannot win it. 

A cockade shone on Blanco's hat 
He looked outright a soldier, 

He issued forth a strong fiat 
In two days grew ten older. 
93 



94 THE AVENGING MAINE 

He cursed the lonely sea-girt isle, 

Until his body writhed in pain, 
Never again would Blanco smile 

In presence of the Maine, 
Whose wreck lay in the water deep, 

Out where warm winds were sighing. 
Whose waves awoke from peaceful sleep, 

Above the sailors lying. 

Over the waters Blanco gazed 

On the swaying Maine to lea, 
And as he looked he saw there blazed 

Fire from out the boiling sea, 
A mighty ship born by the wave 

Came a sailing into port; 
The faces of the crew were grave 

When they looked upon the fort. 
The boys stood by their shotted guns 

Directed against Moro, 
'Till the blood of Spanish dons, 

Mingled with the waters flow. 



THE AVENGING MAINE 95 

The Maine had risen from the deep; 

At news of Cavita's fate, 
Its crews were roused from deathly sleep 

To stand at victory's gate. 
Each man on ship had reappeared; 

At his place by danger's post, 
They gave salute and loudly cheered. 

That never a man was lost. 
A record bright was theirs that day, 

Which the ages shall ne'er outshine; 
The tars smiled at the cannon's plav, 

As they were ranged in line. 



POEMS 



Written on Shipboard and While in Europe, 



DEDICATED TO 



Mr. E. J. SAGE, 



OF 



Stoke Newington, England. 



in remembrance of 



Our Acquaintance and Sympathies, 



Our Love of the Antiquated and Fondness for 
Men and Things of The Past. 



LINES ON KEATS. 



[Suggested by a visit to his grave in Rome, July 10th, 1899.] 

The critics' insolence and scorn, 

Shrouded the days of Keats with care, 

And o'er his Hfe in early morn; 

Lowered the clouds of dark despair. 

He stooped down o'er the water's face. 
And wrote his name upon the flood, 

That none in future time might trace, 
His shade, his lineage, or his blood. 

But lo ! his stylus on the deep, 
Moving above a massive block. 

Downward made a lettered sweep. 
And cut his name upon the rock. 

The flood subsided and when gone; 

Around the rock the earth lay dry; 
The sun upon it brightly shone — 

A flaming name lit up the sky. 
99 



THE BUOY BELL. 



The buoy bell, moved by the wave, 
Monitions give of perils grave, 
They float above the ocean's deep. 
Where white caps thicken in their sweep. 
The bell resounds, when lost from sight, 
Kevern's cliffs are hid in night, 
Whose folds conceal Manacle Rock, 
Where the Mohegan clashing shook. 
In hearing of the buoy bell, 
And its incessant mournful knell. 
Ringing above the troubled deep. 
Beneath which dangers never sleep. 



100 



THE BUOY BELL 101 

Terror, one night, was swift to fly. 

To warn the doomed 'twas hour to die; 

It left its message where hght shone, 

Within the glare of the saloon. 

"The ship is sinking," loudly said 

Some one whose news was quickly spread; 

Shortly it sank beneath the sea, 

At evening's hour, distressingly, 

In spite of warning bell and light. 

With sound and glare flung on the night. 

But few escaped from off the deck 

Of that pathetic, fatal wreck, 

Whose tale of woe and history, 

Sleeps in the vale of mystery. 

A maiden, in the darkness tost, 
Survived most of her comrades lost. 
Through gloom she struggled with the wave. 
And fought against a coral grave. 



102 THE BUOY BELL 

The sky above refused its cheer, 
Her fortitude quailed not from fear. 
No pity showed the rushing wind, 
*Twas cold, unfeeling and unkind. 
The stars fled from her upward gaze, 
And in the cloud-land lost their blaze. 
The earth hid 'neath the mists which met; 
By them was sea and land beset. 
From perils of alarm and dread. 
She held aloft her drooping head 
'Till friendly guards appeared in sight, 
When round her flashed new life and light, 
Rescued from danger's deadly spell, 
Within the sound of the buoy bell. 

In Kevern's church yard, where the mould 
Is rich with dust as mines with gold. 
The sailor boys have found a grave, 
A peaceful harbor for the brave. 



THE BUOY BELL 103 

Their sails are furled, their anchors cast; 
They're home beyond the wave at last. 
The tower looks down with eyes that peep 
Above the mounds concealing sleep; 
The windows of the old church gaze, 
While streaming sunshine pours his rays 
To warm the sod of which 'tis said, 
"How blest the place which holds the dead," 
Where evening's vespers loudly swell, 
While far off sounds the buoy bell. 



Lines on Attaining My Fifty-Eighth Birthday, 
WRITTEN IN Gloucester, August 25, 1901. 



I'm fifty-eight this Sabbath day; 
I'll go to church, there kneel and pray. 
Ere fifty-eight more years shall pass. 
The winds shall sigh unto the grass 
Which sentinels the quiet spot. 
Where, in repose, I am forgot. 
I would not pass this way again. 
Too much I loath its path of pain, 
To this extent abiding peace 
Comes to my heart with its release. 



104 



Dec 28 1001 



DEC 23 1301 

ICOhY ULI. lOLAT.iJrv. 
DLC. 23 1901 



orra 2' 



